The city had stopped bleeding, but the scent of it still clung to the wind.
Selene half-dragged, half-carried Ethan through the shattered streets, her boots splashing through shallow pools of crimson water left behind by the earlier storm. He was heavier than he looked, every muscle dense with whatever the Core had forged inside him. His head lolled against her shoulder, eyes closed, lips moving soundlessly as if murmuring in his sleep.
The survivors had scattered hours ago. Selene hadn't tried to stop them. She could barely keep Ethan upright, let alone shepherd a dozen terrified strangers. In the end, she had chosen him—again.
She hated herself for that.
The safehouse she aimed for was an abandoned transit hub on the city's edge. Underground, reinforced, hidden from drones. She'd stashed weapons and supplies there weeks ago. She just had to make it another few blocks before—
Ethan's body jerked violently, nearly throwing them both off-balance.
Selene cursed under her breath and braced him against a wall. "Stay with me, damn it."
His eyes fluttered open. For an instant, they were his normal brown again. Then a ring of faint crimson bled into the iris. His breath came out in harsh, shallow gasps.
"I can't…" His voice cracked, dry as paper. "It's—inside—moving…"
Selene pressed a palm flat against his chest. His heart was a hammer behind burning skin. "Breathe. You're safe."
He let out a bitter laugh. "Nothing about this is safe."
The Core whispered in his skull, low and intimate. Not words this time, but pulses: a rhythm like hunger, like need. It wanted something—no, it needed something—and its need was becoming his own.
Ethan squeezed his eyes shut. Behind his lids, images flickered: teeth in the dark, slick shadows, blood pouring into an open mouth. The Core was showing him how to feed.
He shuddered. "Selene…"
She felt the tremor under her hand. She saw the change in his jaw, his hands curling into claws against the concrete. She'd seen this before, in other hosts who hadn't survived the transition. The Core's hunger burned everything from the inside out until nothing human was left.
Her knife was already in her hand before she realized it. She didn't lift it. Not yet.
"You're going to fight this," she said. Her voice was flat but not unkind. "You're going to control it."
"I'm—" Ethan doubled over, palms flat against the wall. "I'm not sure I want to."
The admission shocked him even as he said it. Because some part of him—the part wrapped in crimson light—felt good. Strong. Clear. The world was sharp-edged and bright. He could smell Selene's heartbeat. He could hear footsteps two streets away. He could taste the iron of her blood just under her skin.
He could tear the world apart.
His teeth clenched. "Get away from me."
"No." She stepped closer. "If you're going to lose it, you're not going to do it alone."
That flicker of loyalty cut through his rising hunger like a blade. For one heartbeat, he felt human again. He pressed his forehead against the cool concrete, shaking. "Why?"
"Because I've seen what happens when someone goes through this without help." She holstered the knife and gripped his shoulders. "And because I need you alive."
The Core hissed at her words, a jealous serpent. Ethan grit his teeth, riding the surge of heat that followed. He thought of the survivors, the hunters, the endless ruin of the city. He thought of the man he'd been before all this started—a name on a payroll, a heartbeat in a crowd—and how far away that felt now.
Selene's voice dragged him back. "Look at me."
He did.
Her eyes were steady, steel-gray. For the first time since he'd met her, she looked almost afraid. Not of him—of losing him.
"You're not alone," she said.
The Core roared, a molten wave inside him. His back arched; a growl ripped from his throat. His fingers gouged furrows into the wall.
Selene caught his face between her hands. "Stay with me."
He tried. God, he tried. He locked onto her eyes, her scent, the warmth of her palms. He forced the hunger down, inch by inch, like pushing a door shut against a flood.
The Core screamed. Then, abruptly, it went quiet.
Ethan sagged against her, trembling. Sweat—or was it blood?—slicked his temples. He swallowed hard.
Selene eased him back onto his feet. "Can you walk?"
He nodded weakly. "Yeah."
They moved again, slower this time. The transit hub was only a block away. Every step was agony, not from pain but from restraint. The hunger gnawed at him like a living thing, promising power if he just let go.
By the time they reached the underground stairs, dawn had smeared the horizon with gray and crimson. Selene keyed the lock with a hidden code and guided him inside. The door sealed behind them with a hiss.
The safehouse was dim, lined with crates and flickering monitors. A cot sat in the corner, draped with a tattered blanket. Selene guided Ethan to it and eased him down.
He sat, head in hands, breathing hard. "It's worse now," he said hoarsely. "It's like being hungry but not for food. Like if I don't feed it, it's going to—"
"Consume you," Selene finished. She crouched in front of him. "That's exactly what it wants."
He raised his head. "You've seen this before."
She didn't answer immediately. Then: "Yes."
His eyes narrowed. "How many died?"
"Too many." Her tone shut the question down.
Silence stretched between them. Only the hum of the monitors filled the room.
Ethan flexed his hands. Crimson light still flickered faintly under his skin, but it had dulled, like embers after a fire. "It's not going away."
"No," Selene said. "It won't. But you can learn to live with it. Or you can let it take you. Those are your choices."
He gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "Some choice."
Selene studied him for a long moment. "When you fought those hunters, when you unlocked Tier Two—you felt powerful, didn't you?"
"Yes," he admitted.
"That's how it starts." She reached into a crate and pulled out a metal flask. "Drink. It'll help."
He took it, unscrewed the cap, and sniffed. The liquid inside was thick, dark. Not blood, exactly, but something close. The scent made the Core stir hungrily.
"What is this?"
"A synthetic. Not perfect, but it keeps the hunger at bay for a while."
Ethan stared at the flask, then at her. "You knew this would happen."
"I knew it was possible."
He drank. The liquid burned down his throat, metallic and warm. The hunger eased slightly, like a beast retreating to its den.
His hands stopped shaking.
Selene watched him over steepled fingers. "We're not out of the woods. This is just the beginning."
He wiped his mouth. "Then teach me."
Her eyebrows rose. "Teach you?"
"How to control it." His voice steadied. "How to use it without losing myself."
Selene tilted her head, studying him. Then she nodded once. "Tomorrow we start. For tonight, you rest."
He leaned back on the cot, exhaustion dragging at his limbs. But under the exhaustion was something else: a flicker of anticipation. The hunger hadn't left. It never would. But for the first time, he felt like maybe he could use it instead of being used by it.
He closed his eyes.
In the dark, the Core whispered again. Not words this time—just a pulse. Waiting. Watching.
He whispered back, under his breath, so soft Selene didn't hear: "You're not going to own me."
The Core's pulse quickened, amused.
Selene turned off the last light, her silhouette a shadow against the dim monitors. For a moment, she almost reached out to touch him, then thought better of it. She'd trained herself not to care. But this one—this man—was different.
She lay awake in the opposite corner, blade under her pillow, listening to the faint sound of his breathing and wondering how long before the hunger claimed him… or before he became something the world had never seen.
Outside, the city moaned in the wind.
Inside, in the safehouse's dim belly, the predator slept.
And the hunger dreamed.
The safehouse hummed like a sealed tomb.
Down here the city's screams were only vibrations in the pipes, muted echoes under concrete.
Selene didn't sleep. She sat cross-legged on the floor by the doorway, a dim lamp casting her in jagged gold. The blade lay across her knees, a ritual she never broke. Her eyes flicked from Ethan to the door, to the monitors, back to Ethan again. She could feel the Core's afterglow radiating from him like heat from a furnace.
He twitched in his sleep. His fingers flexed against the cot, nails scraping fabric. The veins in his forearms pulsed faintly with light. Selene's grip on the knife tightened. She had seen this before. The hunger didn't stop just because a host closed their eyes. It worked in dreams first, making them pliable, showing them visions that led to surrender.
But she had never seen a host push it back the way Ethan had. That part scared her more than anything.
Ethan was not really asleep.
He floated in a half-world between waking and dreaming, where the Core's pulse set the tempo for his thoughts. It wasn't words now but landscapes. He walked across a plain of black glass, crimson rivers running beneath. In the distance, a shape waited — tall, faceless, clothed in something like his own blood.
Come, the Core pulsed. Feed.
He saw himself falling on a stranger, mouth and hands slick with red. He saw Selene's face turn to shock, then fury. He saw himself kneeling in a throne of bone. The visions came too fast to fight.
"No," he whispered, though his lips did not move. "I'm not yours."
The shape tilted its head, curious, then receded like a shadow. The hunger pressed harder. His chest ached with it.
When he gasped awake, the cot sheets were damp. His nails had shredded the blanket without him realizing it. His breath rasped like dry leaves.
Selene was instantly at his side, knife still in her hand. "What did you see?" she asked, voice low.
He wiped a trembling palm over his mouth. "Not dreams. Instructions."
Her jaw tightened. "It's accelerating. I thought we had more time."
The hunger snarled in his veins. He pushed himself upright, bracing on his knees. "I can't keep drinking your synthetic forever. It helps, but it's like… like trying to drink water when you're starving."
"Exactly," Selene said. "It was never meant to last. Just to buy us hours."
He laughed once, bitterly. "Hours."
Her hand shot out, fingers gripping his chin, forcing his eyes to hers. "Listen to me. You don't get to fall apart now. You asked me to teach you. I'm going to. But you have to hold out until then."
Her nearness cut through the haze like a blade. He stared at her and felt the hunger twist in new shapes — not just blood now, but something warmer, something dangerous. He swallowed hard and looked away.
"Then start teaching me," he said.
Selene hesitated, then stood. "Get up."
Ethan blinked. "Now?"
"Now." She crossed to one of the crates and opened it, pulling out two battered metal rods the length of swords. "You have to learn to burn it without feeding it. You wait too long, it uses you. You push it, it obeys."
He dragged himself to his feet. Every muscle ached, but under the ache was a coiled strength begging to be used.
Selene tossed him one of the rods. He caught it, grip too tight. Sparks of crimson danced briefly over his knuckles.
"Breathe," she said. "Don't let it out. Just touch it."
He inhaled. The Core pulsed in answer. He felt it like a second heart.
"Again," she ordered.
He exhaled slowly, focusing on the weight of the rod in his hand. The glow under his skin brightened, then dimmed, like a heartbeat under a blanket.
Selene circled him, every step measured. "When it surges, don't fight it. Shape it. You're not a prisoner. You're a handler."
Ethan tried. Sweat slid down his temples. The Core bucked against his control like an animal, heat radiating up his arms. He gritted his teeth.
Selene's voice cut through: "Anchor yourself. Find one thing that's still yours. Hold it."
He thought of his sister's face — years gone, but still bright in memory. He thought of a night before all this, when rain was just rain and not blood. He held those images like shields.
The Core snarled, then bent. The glow steadied. The rod in his hand vibrated, heat rolling off it.
Selene's eyes flicked to his. "Good. Again."
They did it until his arms shook and the hunger dulled to a low growl. When he finally dropped the rod, his chest heaved with exertion, but for the first time since the transformation, his mind was clear.
Selene crouched in front of him, sweat glinting on her temple. "That's how you survive the night."
Ethan slumped back onto the cot, laughing raggedly. "That's training?"
"That's breathing." She sat back against the wall, twirling her blade between fingers. "Tomorrow we start training."
He closed his eyes, exhaustion dragging him down again. But this time when he drifted, the Core was quiet. Not gone, not weak — just watching. Waiting.
Selene watched him until his breathing slowed. Then she finally set the knife down. Her shoulders slumped for a fraction of a second, the mask slipping.
He was still alive. Still fighting.
For now.
Above the city, dawn pushed crimson light through a rent in the clouds. Underground, two predators rested in the dark — one made of flesh, one of hunger — and between them, a thin, human will holding the line.